


The Toddler Detective

by BrainFlakes



Series: The Tyrannical Toddler [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, Age play Sherlock, Diapers, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established ageplay relationship, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Toddler Sherlock, caregiver John, littlespace, nappies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrainFlakes/pseuds/BrainFlakes
Summary: I ran out of Ageplay Sherlock stories to read, so I wrote one.





	1. A Bad Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does the title chapter refer to the events or the writing? Or both? Only one way for you to find out...

"No!"

"Sherlock..." A warning tone. A pause. "You need a change."

"No!"

"I wasn't asking, actually. Come here."

"No!"

"Right. One... Two..."

Sherlock wavered, indecision etched in every line of his face and body. He didn't want his nappy changed, but he didn't want a smacked bottom either.

"Thre…"

Before John could follow his counting with his inevitable interjection of  _right_ , Sherlock was off and running. As a tall man in a small flat, his options for flight were fairly limited. He scuttered across the floor, his gait wide-legged and infantile in his attempt not to let his fluffy socks make him slip on the polished (well, someone had presumably polished at some point in the last century or so) floorboards. He ran into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

"No!" Sherlock shouted through the door for good measure.

John stepped firmly towards the door, face set. He opened the door to an apparently empty room. It did not, however, require the services of a consulting detective to spot a 6-foot toddler curled up under the bed.

"No...", he muttered sullenly, in a tone beginning to lack its usual conviction.

" _Right,_ " exclaimed John, "One... Two..."

The Little Detective slithered out from his imperfect hiding place and scrambled to his feet, head held low.

"Thankyou." said John, "Right, up you get" he added, patting the bed. Sherlock did as he was told, still avoiding John's gaze. He lay at the end of the bed, and finally looked quietly towards his caregiver.

"OK, let's get this nappy changed then, shall we?" asked John, with a slightly weary smile. Sherlock nodded sorrowfully, the fight gone out of him. John fondled the side of Sherlock's face softly. "Good boy" he added quietly. Feeling Sherlock relax at the encouraging words and calming manner, he leant forward to smoothe his boy's curls back gently from his forehead. Turning back from a large drawer, John put supplies on the bed and gave Sherlock a little tap on the thigh. The baby bent his bony knees and rested his feet flat on the bed, while John unfolded a new nappy and untaped the old. Another pat, and the detective lifted his bottom for John to slide out the used nappy and place the fresh one under him before Sherlock tiredly lowered himself again, head away from the doctor. John smoothed Sherlock's hair again before giving his hand a quick reassuring squeeze. He cleaned him up carefully with wipes before dusting him with powder and taping him into his new nappy securely.

Sherlock sighed sadly, and John sat down heavily beside the prone baby.

"Come here".

Sherlock sat up, wriggled towards his friend, and lay his head on his shoulder, and the good doctor drew the fractious infant in for a cuddle.

"Long day," observed John mildly. The two sat in silence, revelling in the closeness, physical and emotional. After ten minutes or so John spoke up:

"What was all that about, hey?" A comforting squeeze to Sherlock's drooping shoulders. "What was so bad about getting out of a smelly old nappy and into a nice clean one?"

John felt rather than saw the answering shrug, and Sherlock turned his face into John's shoulder.

"I think someone is tired and hungry, hmm? But you didn't do what Daddy said." Sherlock's head sagged further into John's shoulder. "I know you're tired and upset, but I think you need to sit in the corner just for a bit while I get your bottle ready, hmm?" The head shakes, and after a moment, John feels dampness seep into his upper sleeve as tears drip from his boy's eyes.

"Shh, shh, now baby," soothed the caregiver, rocking him gently and smoothing his hair. "Shh, shh, just for a moment while Daddy gets your tea. It'll be over in the blink of a tired eye, yeah?". John stood slowly bringing a strung out and clingy Sherlock with him. "You can have Bunny to keep you company, and I'll be back in no time. Then I'll feed you your bottle, how's that?"

Sherlock nods wearily. John leans over and picks up a floppy soft brown cuddly toy and takes Bunny and owner to the living room. He guides Sherlock to the corner, presses gently on his head, and hands him his rabbit. The detective takes it and hugs it eagerly, before slumping forwards with his head against the wall. John bends down to kiss the top of his head before heading to the kitchen.

The doctor put on the kettle for tea for himself, and grabbed a large green sippy cup from the cupboard, filled it with milk and put it to warm in the microwave. He located some rusk-like biscuits, and returned to the lounge with provisions in hand. Sherlock lifted his head round from the wall excitedly, before his eyes spilled over with tears, and he folded forwards wailing pitifully:

"Feed... Feeeed…" he sobbed.

"Yes, Daddy's going to give you your milk darling."

"Feed me... Bottle," wept the baby.

"Oh. Well, I can feed you with this sweetheart." At this the sobs become more passionate and more distressed.

"Fe-ee-ee-d" he howled, a broken child.

"Ok, ok, I'll be back in a moment. Let's put you up here on the sofa, and you can have a nice chat with Bunny about mean old Daddy and try and eat your biscuit, hmm?"

Sherlock looked suspiciously at the proffered oatcake, before grabbing it and nibbling daintily at its edge. John returned to the kitchen, laid his head quietly against a cupboard door for a moment before decanting the milk from the cup to a baby bottle. Going back, he sat down by Sherlock, who now had biscuit round his mouth and down his shirt, and probably even in his nappy, but seemingly none in his tummy. John guided the detective's head against the front of his jumper, and Sherlock laid back quietly against him, taking the nipple as it was placed near his mouth, and began to suck. Soon his eyes were drooping closed with exhaustion, but he continued to drink hungrily, while John rocked him gently by his shoulders, making little shushing noises to keep him calm and settle him. As the bottle emptied, John stroked across Sherlock's cheek bone and exclaimed softly,

"Well, someone was a hungry boy. Do you think you could take another one?" Sherlock nodded twice slowly, but otherwise remained motionless.

"Ok sweetheart, but Daddy's going to have to move if you want another bottle." 

So saying, he lifted Sherlock's head and upper body away from himself and stood up, gently laying the little one back along the sofa.

On returning to the living room the doctor found the baby asleep. Loath to wake him, but knowing he would be better off in his bed, John roused him as little as possible, pulling him up under his arms and supporting him to the bedroom.

"Come on now, sleepy, sit here." He patted the bed while lowering the infant onto its edge.

"Lift your arms up now and let's get that t-shirt off you, hmm? Good boy."

John guided first one leg, then the other into a pair of footie pyjamas, and in a fluid movement pulled Sherlock up bodily to wriggle him into the rest of the fleece onsie. Sitting him down, he pulled up the zip and gently traced the pattern of the yellow sun and silver moon on the left and right of the sleepy boy's torso before kissing his forehead and laying him gently against the pillows.

"Daddy will be back in a moment" whispered John, placing Bunny in Sherlock's arms. Coming back, he sat behind Sherlock and held the second bottle to his lips, rocking him gently again. Sherlock suckled half-heartedly, taking in much needed nourishment, but within a few minutes he was sound asleep. John eased himself out from behind the slumberer and kissed his curly crown.

"Good night, you little nutter" said John fondly, and left the room knowing Sherlock would sleep until morning.


	2. Start again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sherlock and John begin a new day.

The next morning, John was woken by wailing, and he honestly couldn't think of a better start to the day. He pattered downstairs into Sherlock's room.

"Good morning little man," he exclaimed as he openned the curtains.

Sherlock's howls quietened to hiccupping sobs. John knew the child wasn't truly in distress, just puzzled by the act of waking small, and probably wet and hungry. John checked the detective's nappy. Yes, no wonder he sounded sad: it was soaked to bursting, used at least twice. The baby needed food, cleaning and a new nappy, all at once.

"Do you need a wee now?" asked John.

"No, I did a wee already," replied Sherlock solemnly.

"Well, how about we take off your nappy and give a you a bit of fresh air during breakfast, hmm? Good idea?" Sherlock nodded vigorously.

"Ok".

Sherlock stood up, and his Daddy stripped him of his fluffy footed onesie and helped him to step out of it. He untaped the nappy, balled it up, and took it to throw in the bathroom bin. John went to the kitchen to make a start on preparing a breakfast of tea and toast for himself, and Weetabix and orange juice for his little one. Sherlock toddled in after him.

"Maybe a few more clothes than that Sweetheart. We don't want to give Mrs Hudson a fright, do we?"

"Good boy", he added as Sherlock returned wrapped in his fluffy dinosaur dressing gown.

"Rah! Rah!" growled the little, snapping his jaws under his soft spiney hood.

"It's a good job I chose your dino bowl this morning" laughed John, placing warmed mushy Weetabix laden with sugar in front of the dino-detective. "Do you want to feed yourself this morning, or should Daddy do it?"

"I do it myself!" exclaimed the boy in an offended tone, as if such a matter could never have been in doubt. He happily began to mould the mush into hillocks in his bowl, before splatting it flat with his green plastic spoon.

"Eat your food, Sweetheart," coaxed the caregiver, as a lump of cereal splashed out and landed in Sherlock's hair. John congratulated himself for choosing breakfast before bath!

Ignoring instructions the boy carried on playing as John chomped steadily through his toast.

"Ok, I think Daddy should feed you."

"No-o-o!" shrieked Sherlock, who was apparently horrified by the suggestion and began shovelling thoroughly mashed cereal into his mouth faster than he could swallow it. As much seemed to end up on the detective as in him, and John tried not to look at the state of the table and surrounding floor. Having finished his juice while playing with the solid food Sherlock began to roll the lidded cup with his right hand while trying to finish his food with his non-dominant left. This did not go well, and John was just thinking that Sherlock had perhaps eaten enough and could be let down from the table when a panicked look shot across the boy's face.

"I need a wee. NOW!" cried Sherlock. "It's coming OUT Daddy!"  
John sprang into action, quickly shoving an empty ice cream tub under the detective just in time to stave off disaster.

"Good boy for telling Daddy in time Sherlock," John praised once the crisis had passed. The dressing gown had already needed a wash from breakfast, and nothing seemed to have made it through to the chair, thank goodness.

"Let's go and get you washed and dressed for the day!" he added cheerfully.

"Bath?" queried Sherlock hopefully.

"Bath." confirmed John.


	3. Clean-up operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath time!

Sherlock, once again entirely deshabillé, ran to the bathroom eagerly and began pulling out toys from a basket under the sink. John, following on behind, put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps. Pouring Matey bubble bath under the running water, John declared,

"You can choose three toys, Sherlock, but don't get into the bath until I'm back here."

Sherlock gazed wide-eyed at his horde of bath-time treasures while John went to lay out play clothes for the day. When he returned to the bathroom a squirty whale, a plastic dinosaur and a waterproof baby book were carefully lined up in a row on the floor, the other toys discarded in a messy pile to Sherlock's right.

"Oh, good choice Sweetheart," praised John. "Now, put the other toys back in the basket. Well done! Ok, come over here and let Daddy help you into the bath. No, give me the toys for a moment. Good boy."

John placed them on the edge of the bath where Sherlock would not need to lose sight of them, making the whale do a little dance to make his boy laugh. He held both his hands while he stepped into the bath, and helped him to sit down without slipping. John placed the two toys into the bath, and the book on the side within reach. Sherlock submerged the whale with one hand.

"Glug, glug, glug," he mumbled quietly, lost in his own Little world.

"Rah" roared the dinosaur in reply, and soon the whale and dino were fighting it out for supremacy on the waves.

Given Sherlock's absorption in his play, John decided now would be a good moment to give himself a wash and a shave: a rare chance to get something done while keeping an eye on his little one. Moments later a squirt of whale water landed on John's freshly soaped cheek.

"No Sherlock. We keep the water in the bath, hmm?"

Sherlock issued his caregiver a dark look for spoiling his fun, but soon resumed playing peaceably enough. The whale and dinosaur now seemed to be being taught about the scientific properties of bubbles, and also, more importantly, how to pop them. John resumed shaving to the conversational sounds of a T-Rex and a cetacean who apparently did not mind being patronised by a 6-foot baby.

"Daddy, read the book," commanded Sherlock. "Norman wants to know what it says."

The T-Rex nodded under the detective's guiding hand.

"Why don't you tell him what the pictures are, and I'll read to the three of you in a minute."

Never one to pass up an opportunity to impart knowledge, whether to humans, balloons or plastic toys, Sherlock acquiesced. Sometimes John suspected that toys might be the detective's ideal audience in any headspace, as they presented no risk of contradiction of facts or expression of emotional opinions.

"Ok, put that book down for a moment, and let's get that cereal out of your hair."

Sherlock did as he was told and John lathered up his curls, soothing his scalp with a small massage. He felt the child relax under his hands.

"Good boy. Lie back and I'll rinse your hair for you."

John washed his hair through, but was unable to resist leaning forward, and grabbing at Sherlock's toes laughingly recited:

"This little piggy went to market,  
"This little piggy stayed at home,  
"This little piggy had roast beef,  
"And this little piggy had none.  
"And this little piggy went..."  
John paused for dramatic effect, and Sherlock's eyes lit up in anticipation of the old punchline:  
"Wee wee wee all the way home", and John tickled the boy under the armpits as he wiggled and giggled with glee. John realised his mistake in winding up the Little as Sherlock began to splash his arms and legs in the water, drenching his Daddy in a tsunami of bathsuds. Knowing he wasn't misbehaving on purpose, John decided to calm him down with a story rather than telling him off.

"Give me the book then, and we can let Norman find out what happens at the end," said John, and read the short story in as soothing a voice as he could muster, discussing the pictures with his audience of three. When he had been calmed and quieted, John smoothed leave-in conditioner over Sherlock's wet curls and cleaned his face with a flannel and gentle soap.

"Ok, out we get," encouraged John, holding his arms out with a fluffy towel patterned with a farm scene watched over by a benignly smiling sun. Sherlock heaved himself out of the bath and into his Daddy's arms for a warming hug.


	4. Battle Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter in which Sherlock gets dressed for the day.

In the bedroom John had laid out two Little outfits: letting Sherlock 'choose' his clothes avoided many tantrums, and often provided his Daddy with a clue as to how old or young he was feeling. Today he seemed to be fairly young, so the outfit on the left was a short sleeved cream outsize Babygro spangled with red and navy stars. Sherlock pointed to the right.

"Brilliant choice," affirmed John. When he had been gently towelled dry, Sherlock lay back on the edge of the bed for John to tape him snuggly into a nappy which was cheerfully patterned with pastel-coloured lions and monkeys.

"What noise does a lion make, Little Monkey?" prompted John, who pretended to cower as Sherlock roared and bared his teeth.

"And what noise does a monkey make, Big Lion?" he asked, tickling Sherlock's tummy.

"Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!" they both grunted together in unison, laughing. John gently sat the Little Detective up.

"Put your hands in the air like you just don't care" he teased, putting a green t-shirt over Sherlock's head, laughing "Hello!" as a curly head popped through. Sherlock giggled at the old joke. 

"Socks? Your head will fall off if you shake it that hard!" 

He held out green and white striped jersey shorts with a drawstring waist for Sherlock to step into.

"Alright, Little Frog, let's hop to the lounge and you can watch cartoons while Daddy gets dressed."

"Ribbit, ribbit," croaked Sherlock, leaping along the floor, waiting for John to open the doors ahead.


	5. What's next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of down time.

Settled comfortably with his back against the sofa, Sherlock sucked contentedly on a juice box, and bounced up and down excitedly as John put on his Captain Pugwash DVD. The doctor patted his head, and left him to shower and get dressed. Faint cheering and booing wafted from the living room as the crew of the Black Pig took on the evil scheming Cut-Throat Jake. John was always puzzled by the occasional gasps of surprise that accompanied scenes of mild peril: how Sherlock could possibly find anything remotely unexpected in a DVD he had seen so many times before was a persistent mystery to John's adult mind. It was adorable. And reassuring: while the detective was so engrossed in the TV he would not be getting into mischief during his Daddy's absence. John took advantage of the downtime to read a little, but when he heard the closing credits ring out for the fourth time he felt that he had left his little boy to his own devices for long enough.


	6. Leaving

"Time to go out and get a breath of fresh air, hey?" said John, turning off the TV.

Making a quick recovery from the disappearance of his beloved Pugwash, Sherlock looked up questioningly. It wasn't often that he got to go out in Littlespace.

"We'll need to get you a bit more warmly dressed if we're going on an outing, though."

This was a polite fiction: the childishness of the detective's dress needed to be more ambiguous to escape censure in public. When his little one had been clad in dark green cotton cargoes with a comfy elasticated waist and had a cosy cable-knit jumper pulled over the frog t-shirt, John took a moment to ruefully consider the fact that most of the contents of his own wardrobe could be considered as essentially child-appropriate. He comforted himself with the thought that at least he was wearing snug red y-fronts under his jeans, rather than a nappy like Sherlock!

John gathered up supplies, bundled himself and his charge into coats and shoes and out of the front door. Predictably, a conspicuously inconspicuous car drew up, and the pair clambered in. The doctor buckled the detective in place, and handed him his bunny to keep him busy and quiet during the journey.

After about half an hour, the car turned in to a residential street, and stopped outside a metal gate of a central enclosed garden. The car's driver wound down his window and silently handed John the key to what could be their own private park for the morning.

"Yeeaahhh…!" yelled Sherlock running towards a big pile of leaves and jumping right in, laying on his back and starfishing to make leaf angels, and for the joy of hearing and feeling the leaves rustling and crumbling beneath and around him. John laughed out loud at the happy scene, and settled down under a tree with a book and a flask of tea, but largely ignored the reading matter in favour of enjoying the sight of his boy playing. It was so rare that Sherlock had the chance to run around like a normal healthy child really needs: excited contentment was spreading from the detective in delightfully infectious waves.

"This," thought John - tea in one hand, book in the other, and a merry little boy in front of him - "This is what happiness looks like. Screw what the world might think of us."


	7. MIA

Unable to resist, John snapped a photo of the Little in the leaf pile, his auburn hair blending with the autumnal foliage. The doctor crouched down by Sherlock and began to bury him in the leaves.

"Where did my 'Locky go?" asked John in mock consternation.

The pile of leaves giggled and trembled.

"Maybe he's in the rucksack. No, he's not in the rucksack. Where could he be?"

The leaves giggled again.

"Did he fly up into a tree?" asked John, gazing upward melodramatically.

"Perhaps he shrank and fell into my pocket," said the doctor, patting at his coat.

At this, the leaf pile giggled so hard it had to clutch between its legs.

"Where did he go?"

"Here I am! Silly Daddy. I was here all the time," cried Sherlock, rising from the leaves like a resident of Cookham Churchyard on resurrection day.

"You gave me such a fright! Silly Daddy," agreed John, pulling him in for a hug. "Let's go and explore and see what we can find, hmm?"

John stumped slowly and contentedly along, with Sherlock running ahead and rushing back, collecting children's treasures of sticks and stones and flowers and insects; all of which he felt it was John's duty to carry for him, naturally.

"I think there's one corner over here we haven't explored yet, William Sherlock Scott of the Antarctic Holmes. I wonder what's behind these trees here?" asked the doctor, rhetorically. The Little hurried onwards.

"Oh Daddy! A playground! Can I play Daddy? Can I play on it please?" begged Sherlock, eyes round with wonder.

"It's what we're here for Sweetheart," laughed John.


	8. Playtime!

"Where do you want to start?" grinned John.

Sherlock answered by running towards the slide, with arms out and hair streaming behind him. He started to scamper up the steps, but waited for his Daddy's approval before climbing to the top. John nodded his assent to the ascent, but found his heart was in his throat as his Little One stood at the top, a shadow outlined against the wide blue sky. The detective was his usual fearless self, and had whizzed down the slide and run past his caregiver and up the steps again before John had conquered his parental nerves.

"Look at me Daddy!" commanded Sherlock, whose need for an audience also remained unaltered by his emotional age.

"You're the king of the castle!"

"And you're the dirty rascal!"

"So are you now," replied John, catching Sherlock in a hug as he arrived at the bottom of the slide once again. But Sherlock was in no mood for hugs right now, and was soon off and running towards a set of swings.

"Higher, Daddy, higher!" yelled the Little one, even as John pushed him almost to horizontal. Sherlock could have played on the swings all day, but after quarter of an hour the older man's joints were beginning to protest against the big child's weight.

"Swing yourself for a bit, sweetheart, hmm? I'll go and get lunch set up and call you over when it's ready." John unrolled a rug under the tree and spread out a feast designed to delight the heart of any child. Crust-free sandwiches; dino-nuggets with ketchup for dipping; sausage rolls; fizzy orange and three kinds of cake. For once, the detective did not need to be called twice for his dinner. Thirsty from his morning's play, Sherlock began to gulp down the orangeade at an alarming rate, pausing only to let out an enormous belch.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"Sorry Da... [BELCH] ...dy."

Daddy attempted to look stern at this further breach of manners, but instead burst into laughter. He might be setting a poor precedent, but the look of astonishment on the boy's face was just too funny. Sherlock began to laugh too, more out of sympathy than understanding, and was soon rolling around on the rug kicking his legs in the air and clutching at his nappy area. Once the Doctor had calmed himself, he stroked Sherlock's back and helped him to breathe more slowly to calm him down.

"Good boy, that's it, calmly now..." soothed the caregiver. "OK, sit up and have a sandwich. Slowly! Good boy."

The pair nibbled their way through the food, and John was hopeful that he might manage to persuade the Little to attempt an alfresco nap as his head began to droop after the unusually large meal. 

"Come here and let me change that nappy of yours. I don't think it escaped a soaking during all that hysteria earlier!"

Sherlock shook his head, but also looked a bit shifty. Oh no, not this routine again, thought John wearily, who had been looking forward to resting his own eyelids.

"Really? It's completely dry, even though you were wriggling on your bottom earlier but now you seem quite comfortable? Well, that is a surprise. No I thought not: it's about to burst! Come on, lie down," coaxed John, knowing that a change would not just clean him up, but also lull him towards sleep. Sheltered from prying eyes by a large tree, the Doctor pulled off Sherlock's trousers and padding, throwing the soggy nappy in a nearby bin. Going to take fresh supplies out of the bag, however, John was dismayed to discover the nappy pocket empty except for a pair of cotton power-ranger pants.

"Sherlock? There's going to be a bit of a change of plan. You're going to have to wear pants under your trousers. If you need a wee, you have to tell Daddy and he'll help you to go like a big boy. Can you be very grown-up and help Daddy by telling him when you need to go?"

Sherlock considered the matter thoughtfully, and nodded with great solemnity to accept the challenge.

"That's my good boy. I'll remind you to think about it, and you won't be in trouble if you have an accident, ok?"

"'k"

"Well done. Let's have a little rest for a while and let our dinner go down, hmm?"

So saying, John lay down by the now fully dressed detective, and pulled Sherlock's head onto his chest. For a while, the only sounds which could be heard were soft breathing and the distant waves of traffic. Neither slept, but drifted along on the edge of wakefulness in total relaxation. After a few minutes the Little began to tap rhythmically on John's chest.

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

"What are you up to, Little One?"

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

"Is that the sound you can hear in my chest?"

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

\- tap tap

"That's my heart, sending blood around my body. That's what you can hear when you play with my stethoscope when you're playing Doctor."

"Heart?"

"Yes. It's what keeps me alive. You too."

"Your heart keeps me alive?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose doubtfully.

"No, your heart keeps you alive. But in a way my heart keeps you alive too, because I love you with all of my heart, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to take care of you."

"Even if I was really naughty?"

"Even if you were the naughtiest boy in the whole world!"

 


	9. Chain of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are still at the garden.

Sherlock leaned forward, plucked a nearby daisy, and slowly picked off the petals one by one. When he had completed his important task he crawled away, picking and gathering flowers before returning and depositing them in John's lap.

"If you find me some more, I'll make you a daisy chain" offered John.

The Detective returned to his search, while the Doctor operated on the daisies, putting into practice long-forgotten skills to thread together the pretty flowers. Sherlock crawled back and forth, and after a few little journeys John leaned forward and placed a garland around his Little One's neck.

"Two more handfuls, then Sherlock", he said, holding up two fingers to help the child understand.

The shorter chain finished, the father placed it on the crown of Sherlock's head.

"Beautiful," smiled John, "You look beautiful".

"Beautiful" replied Sherlock wisely.

Pure and peaceful: happy and affectionate. Like this, Sherlock truly was beautiful, inside and out. The emotions and reactions the adult sometimes struggled to express sprang to the surface naturally in his child-state. The boy reached up and put a bedraggled daisy behind John's ear.

"Daddy beautiful too", he smiled up at him. The two continued to sit, happy and quiet until John's eyes began to droop, and Sherlock began to squirm away.

"Do you need a wee Sherlock?" queried John sleepily.

"Play Daddy!" the Little One commanded urgently, not answering the question.

"One last go in the playground. I'll call Uncle Mycroft to pick us up in half an hour, yeah?" As Sherlock's face began to fall, John added swiftly "What about the seesaw? You haven't been on that yet."

The boy ran off towards it, the sorrows of the future forgotten in the joys of the present.

"SEESAW!" yelled Sherlock, and against his better judgement John helped him to climb up before seating himself at the other end. Sherlock loved the feeling of flying through the air, but the old soldier's knee soon began to bother him, and he was forced to persuade the excited Little to choose another game instead. John held the boy by the shoulders, grounding him and keeping him focused.

"You can have one last go on the swings, but you have to try to go for a wee first" said John seriously.

"Don't need" lied Sherlock unconvincingly. "Want to play".

John frog-marched him towards some bushes discreetly screened by trees, and began to pull down his trousers for him.

"No!" screamed Sherlock, fighting to pull up his clothes with one hand while clutching at himself with the other. Suddenly and unexpectedly Sherlock stilled, and looking slyly at John said "Daddy go too".

"I'm a grown up. I can wait til we get home".

However, as the Detective had deduced, the grown up was pretty keen to go himself. Sherlock began to squirm frantically but refused to let his caregiver help him out of his trousers, and John knew that the situation was reaching crisis point. Accepting the inevitable with a sigh, he moved his hand away from the other man's trousers and towards his own, and unzipped his flies.

"Will you let me undo you now?" Sherlock nodded, and John opened the boy's trousers, pulling them down a bit and tugged away the front of the already damp underwear. Sherlock immediately began peeing towards the base of a tree, and John swiftly added his own stream with a sigh of relief. When John had finished he tidied himself and then redressed Sherlock, and wiped his hands for him.

"One last visit to the swings, yeah?"

One last magical run through the leaves, swing through the air, and slide down the slide (John knew he was weak to give in), and it was time to go. It wasn't often that it was possible to spend Little time outside, and both men were sorry to leave, but Sherlock looked weary, and John didn't want him to get over-tired and fractious. Time to go home.

At exactly the right moment a subtly ostentatious black car drew up. John locked the gate behind him, letting go of Sherlock's hand for a moment to do so.

"Say bye-bye to the garden Sherlock"

"Bye-bye" echoed the Little, flapping his hand back and forth in an ill-co-ordinated wave. "Bye".


	10. Restful

John kept up a steady stream of quiet chatter in the car: about the joys of tea to come; the cozy fire; the story he would read at bedtime. Sherlock became steadily less responsive, and eventually dozed off, much as his caregiver had hoped.

The Detective was too tall for the short Doctor to carry comfortably up the stairs to their Baker Street flat, but Mycroft had wisely sent a driver who was roughly the size of a double-decker bus, and this man silently scooped up the sleeping Little as if he were no larger or heavier than the toddler he mentally became in littlespace.

"In there" nodded John, and having deposited Sherlock gently on the bed, the driver departed without uttering a word or betraying any opinion through his features. John managed to divest the boy of his trousers and jumper and wrap him in a nappy without waking him. Covering him with a soft pale blue blanket, John crept out of the room, leaving the slumberer to recover from a long morning's play in the fresh air.

The older man also felt in need of a rest to recover from Sherlock's long morning play in the fresh air. Shedding shoes and coat, as soon as he had made a cup of tea, he sat down in his armchair to read as many chapters of his current novel as he could before his toddler awoke and demanded his attention again. John loved looking after Little Sherlock - it took a lot less tactical manoeuvring than dealing with his adult counterpart - but a few minutes alone for a bit of self-care was still a welcome reprieve. Sherlock's headspace age might remain unaltered by the passage of time, but John's joints certainly were getting older.

        - Would you like to bring the crumpets up here for tea. I've lit a fire :)

        - DEAR JOHN, THAT WOULD BE LOVELY THANK YOU, LOVE MRS. H.

        - Gr8! I'll let you know when I've got S up from his nap

John wiggled his toes appreciatively towards the blaze, returning to his tea and his book, and wallowing in a sense of cozy well-being. After reading a couple of chapters his eyelids were beginning to droop, and half an hour later he snored himself awake to find his book had fallen to the floor, and its place in his lap had been taken by a sleeping detective wrapped in his arms. Despite the warmth from the fire, John's fatherly instincts caused his to worry that his nappy-clad Little One would be cold, but these same paternal feelings also prevented him from waking the boy to dress him. He leaned forward and pulled the woolen rug from the back of his chair, draped it over Sherlock's legs and feet, and cuddled the child more closely to him to keep out the chill. Sherlock stirred and nuzzled his head into John's shoulder, and soon began to blink awake.

"Hello there sleepy head! That was a long nap. Playing outside must have really tired out, hmm?"

"Go outside now Daddy?" asked Sherlock, eyes widening with excitement as John realised his tactical error.

"Not now Sweetheart. We've already been outside, remember? You played on the swings."

"Swings!" gurgled Sherlock, laughing at the happy memory.

"But we're going to have tea with Mrs Hudson. That will be nice, won't it?"

The Detective nodded agreement.

"We'd better get you dressed first though. Can't be wearing just a nappy when we've got guests. Don't worry," he added swiftly, sensing a tantrum brewing below the surface "Nothing big. Mrs Hudson loves seeing you in your playclothes. How about a nice comfy bodysuit?"

Nod.

"And dungarees?"

A shake of the head.

"Trousers?"

Shake.

"Just a body suit then."

Nod-nod.

Having snapped a soft, warm long-sleeved grey t-shirt spangled with stars over his nappy, John appraised Sherlock thoughtfully. 

"Here you go, Poppett", said John, slipping a dummy into the Little's mouth. Sherlock grinned happily around it.

"Hey, that's cute!" chuckled John, and took a picture on his phone.

"Look, Sherlock! That's you!" he said, showing his phone. The toddler frowned and pointed to his dummy.

"That's right. It makes you look like you've got a moustache." The pair laughed happily together at the photo.

"Come on, let's call Mrs Hudson and show her. Do you think she'll recognise her little boy with a big grown-up moustache?" queried John in mock anxiety.

Sherlock giggled again, and John dialled their neighbour's phone, handing the receiver to Sherlock to say hello to Mrs Hudson. But the baby was suddenly overtaken by an ucharacteristic fit of shyness and refused to speak. John could hear Mrs Hudson's voice, tinny and far away:

"Is that you, Sherlock love?"

"Mmm."

"Ooh, how lovely of you to phone me. Aren't you grown up, calling me on the phone?"

"Mmm," answered Sherlock, glowing under the praise.

"Did your Daddy want you to tell me that tea is ready?"

"Sherlock, she can't see you nod, Love."

"Well, isn't that lovely. Tell your Daddy I'll be right up."

"Bye"

"Goodbye Love. I'll see you in a minute."


	11. It's always teatime

"Hello dears! Did you have a lovely time playing outside Sherlock?" cooed Mrs Hudson, who had been a co-conspirator in organising the morning's outing.

"I played on the SWINGS and I was in the LEAVES and Daddy didn't know where I was and he looked everywhere and I was in the LEAVES and he couldn't find me."

"Ooh, you are a clever boy, Sherlock. Come here and give an old lady a kiss and tell me what else you did."

John sat back in his armchair, enjoying the scene as his excited little boy relayed the events of the morning with immense detail and little coherency. Despite the incomprehensibility of the story, the exchange seemed to be providing great satisfaction to both narrator and listener. John tuned back into the babble in time to hear Sherlock explain:

"...and then I did a wee like a big boy and daddy..."

"Ok Big Boy, I don't think Mrs Hudson needs to know about that bit." blurted John, blushing furiously. "Why don't you show her some of the lovely leaves you collected, hey?"

Humiliation narrowly averted, John began gathering tea things while the Little held forth on the subject of his latest collection to his appreciative and impressively patient audience of one. He could hear a typical Sherlockian mixture of scientific exposition and childish prattle floating through to the kitchen area:

"... xylem and phloem... probability of canine arboreal micturition... the bestest colour is RED... degree of percentage of spoliation..."

John poured boiling water into the teapot and arranged the crumpets on a large berylware plate, before carrying the tray back to the living area where Sherlock was continuing his long-winded lecture.

"Careful of the teapot dear, it's hot," broke in Mrs Hudson, pulling back curious little hands keen to explore the shiny crockery. 

"Hot," agreed Sherlock reaching out to touch the teapot just to check. The air was rent with screaming as John slapped the boy's hand away, and Mrs Hudson was almost as upset as if she herself had been struck.

"Mrs Hudson told you not to touch the teapot!" shouted John.

"Oh I didn't, dear," remonstrated the landlady.

"He knows he's not allowed to touch hot things!"

"He's only little! You should have put it out of reach."

"How? It's alright with real toddlers, but he's taller than I am!" 

Sensitive to any implication that he was not a real toddler, Sherlock's wails increased in volume. John was instantly stricken with guilt.

"Oh baby, Daddy's sorry. He was just scared you would get hurt, he wasn't thinking what he was saying."

Mind now filled with the idea of injury, Sherlock's shrieks found a new level of shrillness.

"Daddy's sorry, Daddy's sorry," urged the Doctor, pulling the hysterical infant in for a soothing cuddle. "Everything's ok now, I've got you, everything's ok."

The boy was still tense and upset, but the crying began to abate and eventually resolved to occasional hiccupping sobs between shaky intakes of breath.

"There's my brave boy. Mrs H, would you pour?"

"You really did ought to have put it out of reach," muttered the old lady to no-one in particular.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments, and sorry for the sporadic updates.


	12. Warm Glow

Sherlock was pale and exhausted after his tantrum, and in other circumstances his caregiver would have insisted on a nap or at least a quiet rest, but as a guest was present John fixed on distraction to help his Little One recover his equanimity.

"Can you be a very helpful boy and give your old Dad a hand to toast the crumpets? But we need to be really careful because we're going near the fire and it's hot, ok?"

The lower infant lip wobbled slightly at this word which had so recently been the cause of so much trouble, but bravely steadied itself at the sight of the plate of savoury treats.

"Now then, this bit's difficult, so I'll put the crumpet on the toasting fork for you. There you are... So, kneel right here, that's it, and hold it over the flames. Alright?"

Sherlock looked as if he couldn't believe his luck in being allowed to sit so close to anything as dangerous as fire, and sat very still for fear of alerting his Daddy to the lapse of rules he had unaccountably permitted.

"Lean back a bit... That's it... There we go, now hold it close to the fire to do the other side. Good boy."

"Yes, well done Sherlock dear."

"I think that's ready now... Yes. I'll put it on a plate and you can carry it very carefully to Mrs Hudson."

"For me? Ooh how lovely! I'll put a bit of butter on it and then we can have half each so we can both try your cooking, hey? Oh Sherlock, this is delicious! Aren't you a clever boy cooking this all by yourself? I must give you a kiss to say thank you. Oh dear, let me just wipe that butter off your cheek there."

John continued to transfer crumpets from plate to fire to plate to while Mrs Hudson loaded them with butter, marmite or honey, according to the preferences of each. Sherlock (honey) was soon a sticky mess, but his good humour was entirely restored, and he submitted to his face, hands, arms, hair and legs being scrubbed clean with a flannel between crumpets by whichever grown-up was closest at the crucial moment. When the trio could eat no more, John returned to his armchair and held out his arms for Sherlock to come and rest on his lap.

"Tea?" asked the boy, hopefully.

The men's ever-indulgent landlady found a sippy-cup and filled it two-thirds full with tea, topping it up with milk and handing it to John. Sherlock clapped his hands with glee, as the cup was lifted gently to his lips and he began to suck greedily at his treat, feeling like an especially grown-up little boy. John transferred the two-handled cup to Sherlock, and stroked the boy's curls lovingly.

Mrs Hudson began to gather up her things:

"Well dears, I'd better let the two of you start settling down for the night. Thank you for such a lovely evening. Sleep well, Sherlock dear."

A kiss to the boy's cheek and a squeeze of John's shoulder and the old lady was gone.

Sherlock looked up anxiously into John's face.

"Do I really have to go to sleep now Daddy? I'm not tired yet."

"Not quite yet. I think it might be Mrs Hudson who was ready to go to sleep," laughed the Doctor. "How about we watch a film before bed, hey? You think about what you want to watch, while I go and get us some snuggly blankets and cushions."


	13. Wind Down

When John returned with arms filled with blankets, cushions and cuddly toys, Sherlock rushed over to him eagerly.

"I know what I want to watch Daddy," whined Sherlock, pulling at his caregiver's sleeve.

"Can we watch Prinshy?"

"Are you sure?" 

The Russian version of the Little Prince always creeped John out, but Sherlock loved the serene and surreal film. John had never been clear whether Sherlock understood every word of the Russian script or not a syllable, but either way, it absorbed the curly headed boy, caught between adulthood and infancy, innocence and wisdom, time and eternity.

John tucked his Little One up on the sofa. Sherlock held Bunny under his arm and stroked its soft furry ear with his right thumb and inserted his left into his mouth with his fingers hooked over his nose. At times the boy leaned forward, mouthing the words along with the characters. At others, he nestled amongst the cushions or against John's shoulder. As the film progressed, the nestling became more frequent than the leaning, and John made up a bottle of warm cocoa and slipped the rubber nipple between the sleepy baby's lips. By the end of the closing credits, the sound of suckling had been replaced with slow snuffly breathing, and the good Doctor was trying to decide whether to rouse the boy to get him into bed or whether to lay him down to spend the night on the sofa, when the bottle dropped from Sherlock's grasp onto the floor with a soft thud, waking the infant.

"OK Little One, time for bed, I think," said John, rubbing small circles on the boy's back to lessen the shock of waking. "Someone is tired out. And I think you are too, Sweetheart".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can watch the film here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LX8x0DWYoJc


	14. Good evening, good night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to say goodnight and goodbye.

Readied for bed, John pulled the soft duvet up over Sherlock's fleecy footed pyjamas, and tucked Bunny under his arm. He held the little boy's hand for a moment, before reaching up to turn out the lamp, and turn on the beautiful sound and light mobile which hung over Sherlock's bed. It shone with a clear, steady light, while animals spun slowly around it, creating an enchanting shadow show on the wall to distract from the encroaching darkness. Sometimes the infant could watch it for hours, but tonight his eyes began to close almost as soon as the ethereal notes began to play a well-known lullaby. John took Sherlock's slim hand between both his own, and began to croon along with the music:

Lullaby and goodnight,  
Draped in roses and starlight  
Robed in comfort from above  
Rests my darling clothed in love!  
Close your eyes, now and sleep;  
May good angels watch keep.  
Close your eyes, now and sleep,  
May good angels watch keep.

Lullaby and good night  
Keep your grey eyes closed tightly  
Shining angels are near  
So sleep on without fear  
They will guard you from harm  
With fair dreamland's sweet charm  
I will guard you from harm  
In your dreamland's sweet charm.

x


End file.
